


Air Miles

by San



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/San/pseuds/San
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick is flying into Los Angeles, but the Los Angeles he wakes up in is <i>very</i> different from the one he expects -- and yet, much the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Air Miles

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is FICTION! Anyone who believes otherwise needs a reality check.

Nick sighed and rested his temple against the still-cool glass window of the plane, allowing his eyes to drift shut. He found himself wishing he had the smooth cylinder of a cigarette in his fingers, despite the fact that he'd not smoked in years. He smiled faintly at the old addiction rearing its ugly head; he knew he'd never really shaken the nicotine beast, just given it over to make Warren feel better, and now he was in a situation where he felt unsure of himself. Smoking - the act of lighting a cigarette, waving it in the air - had always been a way to shield himself when he felt out of control. He'd actually hidden a pack in his carryon, but ended up in the no-smoking section anyway.

He still wasn't sure this reunion was going to be such a wise idea; too many old demons and ghosts were likely to come up. There was still unresolved business between he and Andy, for example. Naturally, John would be pleased that Warren was gone, but Nick had liked working with the brash American. Another place he and John had parted, he thought,  
rubbing his hands over his arms as he opened his eyes and stared out across the brilliant white tops of the clouds, glad that takeoff was finally over. He'd grown used to flying, but still hated to take off in fog.

John was the reason he was on this transatlantic flight; he'd been in the studio with Andy and Roger for a while now. Nick knew they'd not be able to keep the reunion a secret for much longer, as the rumors had started to fly on fan sites, and he supposed it didn't matter. Except that the longer the fans knew, the higher expectations would be, and he just wasn't sure they were up to that. Roger'd fit right back in, studio-wise, he knew that without worrying about it, but he wasn't sure Roger'd want to tour. If they toured. If they got the album finished in 2002 as they were planning.

He watched the clouds beneath him, looking thick as snow, and thought that he and John should have planned past Madison Square Garden in ?84. But who knew? They'd wanted to be famous, of course, on top of the world, but neither of them had any idea the kind of toll that would take on all of them - emotionally and physically. They'd really not been ready for it; they'd not known what to look out for in each other. John's addictions had seemed just a part of the life, at least until it was much too late. And they'd all been out of control; each group had done Power Station and Arcadia as a sort of personal ego-trip. Nick sighed as he thought again that John had left Duran at the same time Andy had, just going through the motions for ten more years because he couldn't stand to let the dream die.

Nick closed his eyes again, smoothing his hands along his pants as he again wished for a cigarette. He'd no idea why he had this urge to go to the States and talk to John, alone, before he and Simon rejoined their erstwhile bandmates. Most of what they'd had to say to each other, good and bad, had been said over the phone the night after John announced his separation from the band at that fan convention. They'd not talked much since, just a handful of calls: congratulations at John's association with Avex and his marriage to Gela, condolences over his mother. Simple things, enough to retain some minimal connection, but nothing more.

He tried to relax into his seat, to prepare to sleep through the long flight, but he could already tell rest was going to evade him. Self-fulfilling prophesy, he scolded himself, even as he felt the tension creeping through his shoulders and down his back that warned of an oncoming bout of insomnia. He supposed he could get drunk enough on whatever cheap wine the airline was serving to get some rest, but he wanted to show up in L.A. sober. Mostly, he admitted very privately, to prove that he could.

The gentleman in the seat next to him shifted and began to snore, and Nick sighed, bitterly surrendering to the inevitable and opening his eyes again. He picked up the novel he'd set in the seat's magazine holder and opened it. A photograph of his daughter fell out and he smiled, amused that Tatjana'd hidden it there, probably expecting him never to find it. He tried to remember if she'd given him the book, and couldn't be certain but decided after reading the first few paragraphs that she probably had; it seemed like the trashy type of novel Tatjana would imagine him enjoying. Mostly because she'd enjoy it herself.

He only managed to read about a chapter before he grew bored and set the book on his lap, carefully replacing his daughter's picture so it wouldn't get damaged. He shifted restlessly in his chair, thinking that being more-or-less trapped in one place was a definite downside to flying. With a sigh he leaned his head against the window again,  
watching the sun reflecting off the water far below, now that they were beyond the cloud cover. The apparent stillness of the Pacific from this height always fascinated him even though he knew it was an illusion created by distance. He held back a bitter chuckle, considering how many things in his life had turned out to be like the stillness of the Pacific: false impressions.

The glass under his temple was starting to warm from the sun striking it, and he shifted his head away from it as he reached up to close the window before the glare got much worse. He'd have a headache from flying, anyway, no sense in making it worse with too much sunlight. Before he'd pulled the shield down, however, a shimmer on the horizon  
caught his eye, and he squinted against the sunlight to check it out.

At first it looked like it might just be spray off the water being reflected by the sunlight. As he peered at it he decided it looked more like the shimmer of oil on water: decidedly strange as it hovered in the air almost like a rainbow. Rainbows draw away from the viewer, though, and Nick frowned as he realized that not only was it apparently  
stationary it created a barrier that the plane was headed directly for. Still, he presumed the captain in the cockpit could see it as well...and he knew he needed to trust the crew to know what they were doing, what was safe and what wasn't. To do otherwise would just drive him nuts, particularly since he couldn't exactly get up and pace away his frustration.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the shimmer, whatever it was, until he finally forced himself to pull the shade down to cut off the blinding sunlight. Still, he felt tense, his book still resting in his lap as he closed his eyes. The veil still danced in front of his eyes, however, and though he tried to dismiss it as nothing - perhaps simply a heat vision, like an oasis in the desert - he finally reached over to push the shade  
back up, just enough so he could see out.

"Mr. Bates?"

Nick jerked awake, feeling the gentle fingers of the stewardess touching his arm.

"Yes?"

"We're about to descend into Los Angeles," she said, with a small smile at him.

He shook his head, groggily, and said, "thank you," as she moved on.

He glanced around the plane as he returned his seatback to its uncomfortable upright position, trying to shake the sense that something wasn't quite right, or at least to recapture the dream that he'd been having. The snoring gentleman beside him returned his glance with a yawn and a shrug, then placed the computer that had been open in front of him back in its carryall and under the seat. Nick finally shook his head again and opened the window, putting his sense of malaise down to his abrupt awakening as he reached out and opened the window, preferring, as he always did, to watch the landing. He smiled at a memory of Simon teasing him about trying to help the plane land, but he loved it for the visual impact of things drawing closer and growing larger until the plane's wheels touched  
earth and everything was back to its "normal" size and placement. Tatjana, on her first flight had asked him if it was how birds saw the world, sharing his fascination.

He picked his book off the floor and tucked it in his carry-on, but chose to wait until almost all the rest of the passengers had disembarked before he rose languidly from his seat and pulled off his jacket before heading out; no sense in fighting with the crowd if there was no rush, after all.

As he came off the ramp he was surprised as two small boys detached themselves from the crowd, shouting "Uncle Nick! Uncle Nick!" and attached themselves to his legs. He caught himself before they knocked him off-balance, and looked around in bewilderment.

"James! Peter! Knock it off!"

Nick had to turn his head most of the way around to see John coming up behind him as the two boys clung silently to his legs, no longer jabbering at him. They both watched John closely as he approached Nick.

"Hey, Johnny," he said, uncertainly, as John closed the distance between them. He wouldn't put it past John to have arranged an elaborate practical joke - perhaps borrowing a couple of Roger's kids, but he wasn't sure - mostly because he could see John's stubborn chin in both their faces. And he couldn't figure how John knew he'd be at  
LAX, let alone when; the only person he'd told his travel plans to was Simon, and that only to reassure him that he'd be back before the first Japan gig.

"Let Uncle Nick walk, guys," John said, giving Nick a quick grin as he reached down and tugged on their shirtbacks. "Hey, Nick, glad you're back. Where's Maddie?"

Nick blinked at John, confused.

"Mads and I broke up months ago, Johnny, you know that," he said, then watched in amazement as a look of consternation crossed John's face, followed by a broad grin and a rolling of the eyes.

"Gela will be disappointed to hear that, Nick, she's got the wedding dress almost ready. Getting cold feet, are we? Or just trying to play a nasty gag on me?" John said, following Nick as he headed to the baggage claim, one child attached to each of their hands.

Nick shrugged, now feeling thoroughly out of his depth.

"Maybe I'm just tired, John," he finally chose to say, and John laughed and clapped him on the back.

"Hellish flight from Iowa, then?" he asked, and Nick turned away from the carousel to look at him in shock.

"Why on earth would I have been in Iowa, Johnny?" he said, managing to turn it into a question and certain, now, that there was something very wrong.

John shrugged, reaching out and snagging Nick's garment bag off the carousel in an easy gesture.

"I don't know," he answered, "it's not like you bother to tell us. I presume visiting your ex-laws and your daughter."

Nick sighed; relieved that whatever else had gone wrong with the world Tatjana was still in it.

"Right," he said, "That's the lot."

"That's it?" John said, clearly surprised as he slung the garment bag over his shoulder, "don't you think you've packed awfully lightly? We're likely to be here a while, you know."

"I'm only staying a couple of days, John. I've a tour to get back to, remember?"

John turned around and looked at Nick, concerned. The child clinging to his free hand had two fingers stuck in his mouth and was contentedly sucking them as he watched the conversation between the adults.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, Johnny. Like I said, I'm just tired."

"Is everything okay with Tati?"

"She's fine. Why the third degree?" Nick snapped.

John shook his head.

"We're not touring, now, Nick. We're working on an album. Remember? You'll probably be in Los Angeles for a couple of months at least, the way we work," John said, soothingly, and Nick felt his heart fluttering about in his throat. He shook his head, though, and gave John a bright, if false smile, knowing he'd see right through it.

"Like I said, John, I'm tired. I just got off a plane. Imagine how much worse I'd be if I'd been drinking during the flight."

John laughed at him, but the amusement never reached his eyes.

"Right. You drink. Sure, Nick, whatever," he said, leading them out to the parking lot. Nick made sure he had a good grip on the child who had his hand - Peter or James, he had no idea which, but he wasn't about to let anything happen to one of John's children. Even if it was a child he didn't remember John having.

It was something of a relief to find that the hotel bus drivers still drove like maniacs around the airport, forcing other people to either drive the same way or get the hell out of the way. LAX still looked the same, right down to the constant construction. Nick found he wasn't surprised that they were walking away from the domestic terminal, rather than the international, that he hadn't had to go through customs--instead he mostly just felt numb. He wondered if he weren't still dreaming, and decided his subconscious would never play this particular trick on him. Besides, his dreams just weren't this vivid - he wouldn't feel the strap of his carryon cutting into his shoulder, or smell the diesel exhaust of the bus that passed them as John unlocked his Land Rover and loaded Nick's luggage into the back, then popped open the side door and got the boys in the car with Nick's help. They resisted the car seats, so it took both adults to hold down each squirming child in turn.

Nick guessed they were about five, and it was clear to him that they were twins, though James was the more rambunctious of the two.

Once they were settled, Nick and John got in the front seat and John pulled out of the lot, paying the fee and heading for Century Boulevard. Nick was not reassured by the fact that John's driving clearly hadn't changed, and he said, "It's a wonder you're allowed to bring the children with you."

John smirked.

"Nervous?"

Nick reached up and grabbed the handle above the door as John passed a car with scant inches to spare on the passenger side.

"Not at all, Johnny," he said, tightly. "Remind me never to let you take Tatjana with you when you're driving."

"You always say that," John said, focusing intensely on the merging traffic ahead of him as he zipped on to the freeway. "Of course, you also always follow through on it, too. Like your driving is any better."

"I never drive unless I've no other choice," Nick answered, trying to decide if John's driving would make him less sick if his eyes were closed.

"True. Nah, Amanda only lets me take the boys when she's no other choice - or on days like today, when she and 'Lanta already have other plans. You could have given us more warning on this return, you know."

"Amanda," Nick said, horrified. "You said Gela was working on Madeleine's dress."

"Who else? 'Manda and Gela are great friends, Nick, honestly. I've gotten over the whole affair between them, and so have they."

Nick sank back in the chair, weakly, trying to sort things out.

"How is Atlanta?" he finally asked, trying to return things to a semblance of normalcy.

"Getting smarter every day," John answered, glancing over his shoulder, "cut it out, you two. Don't make me pull this car over."

Nick laughed at him, as the two boys continued to raise a ruckus in the back seat.

"Don't you dare say it, Bates."

"Say what, Taylor?"

"You know exactly what."

"Atlanta, John," Nick said, amused despite himself.

"Brilliant, beautiful, wonderful, difficult...all the things you'd expect from an eight-year-old child."

"Just wait, John. Wonderful starts to fade and difficult to rear its ugly head far more often once they're teens."

"Mum always said grandchildren are the best revenge," John said, a hint of sadness in his face as he pulled off the freeway. Nick had no clue where they were, and found he didn't much care.

"I think most mums say that, Johnny," he answered, almost automatically. "Mine just told me I had no business having a child so young."

John looked at Nick out the corner of his eye, and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something but then the traffic in front of them took his full attention. Nick leaned back in the seat, ignoring the child kicking him from behind, and closed his eyes, grateful that John didn't seem determined to pursue the matter. Despite the fact that he should have been terrified he found a certain resignation in his outlook; this world was not his own, but he could manage. Tatjana was in the world, John was in the world...his heart sank again as it crossed his mind that he had no such reassurance about Simon and Yasmin. Or Roger and Gio, or even Warren, for that matter. He sighed, heavily.

"We're nearly there," John said, from beside him, and Nick opened his eyes and regarded him.

"Are you reassuring me, or the munchkins in the back?" he asked dryly.

"Both," John said. "James, stop kicking the seat!"

"You're so domesticated."

"F-Sod off, Nick."

"Sod Off, Sod Off," one of the twins cheerfully warbled from the back seat, the other joining him shortly thereafter, and Nick shook his head.

"You're in trouble now," he commented, as they pulled up to a security gate. The gaggle of fans outside got out of John's way as though they were accustomed to his mad driving, which they probably were. John waved at them, and Nick followed suit, though the last thing he wanted to do was talk to them. He could just imagine the mayhem it would  
cause when one of them asked him about an album or a song he didn't remember making and he couldn't fake an answer.

"Nah. They'd never say that in front of Mum, would you boys?"

"Sod off!"

John sighed, exaggeratedly.

"Okay, maybe I am in trouble. So I'll just blame it on you."

"Me? I've years of experience in being a father, John, I would _never_ curse in front of a child that small...and of course your wife'll believe you before she'll believe me," he finished, with a sigh. John smirked at him as he parked the car behind a shed, then leaned back and removed his seatbelt and stretched.

"Daddy! Want out!"

"Yes, James, Daddy knows, but that's no way to ask, now is it."

Nick got out of the Rover before stretching his arms up over his head. The air was cooler here than he'd expected, but still warm enough that he was glad he'd taken his jacket off on the plane. John's place didn't look much different than he remembered, though the face was a little more weather-beaten and there were more toys scattered  
around. He heard John alternating between cajoling and scolding his sons in the back of the car as he released them from the bonds of their carseats; shortly thereafter two small blurs went tearing past him to the house, shouting for their mother.

The Amanda that stepped out of the door at the boys' call was not quite what Nick was expecting; she still looked mostly the same but there was a softness about her that he didn't remember. She smiled at him and held out her hands, to his surprise, but he recovered quickly and stepped over to her, taking her hands and allowing her to draw him in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Nick, good to see you," she said, stepping back and looking him over. "I see the ex-laws didn't treat you too badly. Where's Maddie?"

"Back in London," he answered, hoping that was correct, "she had work to do."

"Typical. You two deserve each other on the workaholic front," she said, reaching up and wiping her lipstick off his cheek. "Well, we'll miss her."

"How goes the acting?" he asked, as John came up behind him. Amanda glanced at her husband, then smiled at Nick.

"You're such a tease, Nick, you know I gave that up when Atlanta was born. One of us had to stay home with her, and with you four gallivanting around the world all the time..." she shrugged, but smiled at John.

Nick stepped aside so John could lean down and kiss his wife, feeling a sliver of glass in his gut as he wondered who was missing. One of the boys started to giggle.

"One of us had to pay the bills," John reminded her, and she reached out and mock-slapped his shoulder.

"What a charming display of domestic bliss," Nick commented, dryly. Amanda laughed, and John handed Nick his luggage.

"Come on, then," he said, "we thought you'd rather have the rest of the day to recover before we drop you in the studio."

"Considerate of you," Nick said, bemused, as he followed John down the hall to what was clearly a guest room, though the last time Nick had visited he recalled it had been Atlanta's room. Some part of him remembered John moving when he'd married Gela, but...he shook his head. Clearly that hadn't happened, here. Wherever here was.

"We do our best. Figured you'd rather stay here than at some hotel, anyway."

Nick nodded.

"I could stand a nap, Johnny," he said, "if that won't inconvenience the boys too much."

"Nah. They'll manage. Atlanta will be a bit disappointed, though," John said, glancing over his shoulder to see where Amanda was. "But we need to talk, Nick."

"Later, John. Atlanta can see me when I wake up."

John smiled, but his forehead was wrinkled with concern.

"Yeah, with the big holes in your brain I think you'd better sleep, anyway."

Nick sighed.

"You always know just how to make me feel good about myself, John."

John wiggled his eyebrows at Nick, then stopped in the doorway as Nick rolled his eyes at him.

"You really ought to call Madeleine and let her know you got in okay, Nick," he said, and Nick waved a hand at him.

"I'll call her in a bit. Let me get my head on straight."

John snorted, and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nick sank gratefully down on to the bed, wondering just what was going on here. John should be married to Gela, and Atlanta should be living with the two of them and Gela's children. Amanda...Nick didn't remember what Amanda was up to lately, although he supposed he should  
be grateful that the awful movies she'd been in either didn't exist or didn't involve her. John certainly hadn't had twin sons. He wouldn't have visited Julie's folks - and Tatjana was living with _him_ , not with them. He rubbed his face with both hands, then got up and started to unpack. His fingers caught on the luggage tag, and he turned the piece of paper over in his hand. It still showed the abbreviation for the Osaka airport, which he supposed he should be grateful for, but then thought that it didn't prove anything except that either he - or his counterpart - had been to Osaka, with this suitcase, at some point.

Once his clothing was hanging in the closet he stretched out on the bed, draping his arm over his eyes and trying not to think. He thought it was unlikely that he was dreaming all of this, which meant something was wrong with the world. Except that the world doesn't change - people don't change so dramatically. He wished he were at home with Simon and Yaz despite knowing that wishing wouldn't get him anything. Work had always been the solution, work and a determination to get where he wanted to be and to get the things he wanted.

He snorted as he realized he was lucky - he could have arrived in this version of his world to discover that he was still married to JulieAnne. Or that he'd never been married at all, that there was no Tatjana in his life. Still, the child that was living with "his ex-laws" wasn't really _his_ child, either. He sighed, rolling over on  
to his side and bringing his hand down to stroke the comforter, wondering how he'd gotten here, and how he was going to get back. If he _could_ get back.

The sunlight coming through the window was warm on his back, and he could hear the children laughing out in the yard. What he had to do was figure out how to fit in to this world, well enough that he didn't destroy everything for the Nick that belonged here. After all, he wouldn't like it if some stranger took everything over from him and  
destroyed his life and his relationships. He shivered, hoping that - if he _had_ a counterpart who was now in the world as he remembered it - he felt the same way.

"One thing at a time," he murmured drowsily. "Control what you can, let the rest go."

Excellent advice. Problem was, he'd never been very good at taking it.

=============================================================

He woke an hour or so later when the sun had crept far enough up the wall that it was no longer warming his back, coming back to consciousness with a jerk. He rolled over, stopping to stare at the ceiling and hoped briefly that things had gone back to normal. He was still in the same room, however, and sat up with a sigh. He uttered a brief prayer to any power that might be listening that the Nick that belonged here also played the keyboards for the band or he'd be absolutely doomed; if he didn't manage to fit in he could just see himself ending up in Bedlam. He was sure there was no chance of getting back to his world from there.

A soft tap on the door interrupted his musings, and he got up and opened it. Atlanta stood there, looking up at him shyly, and said, "Daddy says to tell you that it's tomorrow."

Nick blinked at her, then laughed. She smiled at him, tentatively.

"Go tell him I said be glad it's not yesterday. I'll be out in a few."

She nodded, and Nick watched her go down the hall before ducking back into his room. He was relieved to find the bathroom adjoined the room as he remembered, and stripped out of his clothes and hopped in the shower to rinse off sleep and travel.

He carelessly drew on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he'd brought with him and walked down the hall, running his fingers through his damp hair to lay it back in place.

"Hey," John said, "We heard the shower running and figured it'd be an hour before we saw you again."

"Yes, well, we've all changed," Nick said, ironically. "Good morning."

"Good afternoon," John said, just as dryly, his eyes twinkling with good humor. "Feeling better?"

"Much, thank you. And hungry enough to eat _your_ cooking."

They all laughed at that as all three children came into the room, the two boys descending on Nick who sat down before they could knock him down.

"How did _you_ manage to produce two children with so much energy?" he asked John, after complimenting James on the blotch of paint he was calling a drawing and Peter on the stuffed horse he insisted on giving "Uncle Nick."

John shrugged, wrapping his arms loosely around Atlanta who had come to sit in his lap.

"Dunno. One of the many miracles in my life, I guess," he answered, smiling affectionately at his sons. Nick shook his head, sighing internally. The John he was used to was paternal, yes, but not so...domesticated. Nick wasn't sure if he liked the change or not.

"I suppose we've had a few," he answered. "So, is it really tomorrow, or did you just decide I'd slept long enough?"

John snorted, and Amanda got up with a laugh and headed for the kitchen.

"You've slept the clock round, laddie," John answered in a tacky Irish brogue, and Nick restrained himself from tossing a couch pillow at him with the boys in the room. "Speaking of which, you'd better call Madeleine. She called this morning looking for you."

Nick sighed.

"Is she very angry?"

"Oh, not angry," John answered, sobering up, "just hurt that you didn't call her when you got in. I gather you promised you would."

"Undoubtedly," Nick answered, getting up. "I'd rather be chewed out in private, Johnny."

"Of course. There's a phone in the guestroom; it's probably tucked under the bed. Atlanta prefers to talk in the dark."

"Dad!"

John ruffled her hair, earning another protest as Nick walked back down the hall. He found the phone where John had said it would be, causing him to grin bemusedly at it for a moment, before the realization that he'd no idea what Madeleine's number was kicked in. He felt his heart rate increase as he started to panic; clearly the relationship between John's family and Madeleine was close enough that they'd know if he _didn't_ call, no  
matter how long he stayed in here, talking to himself. He forced himself to calm down, to breathe deeply, as he searched his memory for the last number he'd had for her, since things weren't so different here.

He waited nervously as the phone rang, shaking a cigarette out of the pack he'd had in his pocket and tapping the filter against his lip without lighting it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Maddie," he said, obscurely relieved to hear her voice.

"It's about time you called, you bastard. I was going to post a rumor on There that you'd shaved your head."

"I'm sorry? Darling, it ended up being a much harder trip than I expected, and I just crashed out when I got here." There? He didn?t remember There having a place for rumors, just a lot of fanfic -- but he supposed websites could change as well, if people did.

He could picture the wry twist to her lips as she growled at him, then laughed.

"That's what Amanda said," she admitted. "I guess John even tried to wake you, but you were dead to the world. I know what would perk you up," she finished, half-purring.

"I bet you do," he answered, "but, unfortunately, I need to eat something, and then I'm sure John'll be dragging me down to the studio."

"Oh, like he'll have to _drag_ you. Workaholic."

"It takes one..." he said, remembering Amanda's comment from the night before. Madeleine just laughed at him.

"Well, I'm here safely, and I am sorry I didn't call you yesterday."

"I suppose I can accept that apology. You'd better not forget to pick me up at the airport next week, though, or else..."

"Or else?"

"I can't think of a good threat right now," she said, "just some interesting things I'd like to do to your body that you'd not find frightening at all."

"Well, just to be safe, Maddie, why don't you give me the flight information again."

"Nick. You _promised_ me you wouldn't lose it this time," she said with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry, Luv, it's somewhere in my baggage and I've no idea where. It's not lost."

"I'm not arguing semantics with you," she answered. "You've paper handy?"

He took down the information with some trepidation, and then said, "I promise not to get too wrapped up in the studio and forget."

"You'd better not. I love you."

"Love you, too," he answered, by rote, before he hung up the phone. He regretted the lie he'd told her but reminded himself that he was protecting someone else's relationship. Someone who he hoped was being careful of his.

He wondered how his counterpart had responded to arriving at LAX without John waiting as he walked somberly back down the hall. He suspected his world might be more difficult to adjust to, and couldn't wait to get back to it.

"When did you start smoking?"

"What?" Nick asked in surprise, looking at John who was lounging on the couch and looking back at him with one dark eyebrow raised.

"I said, when did you start smoking?" John asked, gesturing at the unlit cigarette Nick had in his hand. Nick reached up and tucked it behind his ear, biting back the urge to ask John how long he'd done cocaine in response.

"It's a prop," he answered, dodging automatically, "I won't light up in the house, John, if it'll bother you."

"I'm just surprised. You've always hated the habit."

 _So I'm Warren, now?_ "Like I said, John, people change. Besides, you know how much stress is involved in planning a wedding. I guess I finally just gave in."

"I guess so," John said, still frowning at Nick.

"What?"

"Like you said, Nick, later. Let's grab some dinner."

"Yes, let's," Nick answered, "and then let's get down to the studio. I'd like to salvage at least _some_ of today."

John's puzzled expression faded as he laughed.

"Some things never change."

=============================================================

"Okay, Nick, it's just the two of us. No one near to hear. What the Hell is going on?"

Nick looked over at John from the passenger seat, feeling the color drain from his face.

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Johnny," he said.

"You're lying."

"Your driving is making me sick, John."

"Nick..."

Nick sighed, closing his eyes.

"Fine, then. Pull over - I don't want to cause a wreck."

John raised an eyebrow at him, but pulled his Mercedes over to the curb and put it in park with the engine running, then folded his arms in front of his chest and turned to look at Nick.

"Is smoking verboten in this car?" Nick asked, pulling a fresh cigarette out of his pack.

"You don't smoke."

"No. The Nick who belongs here doesn't smoke, John," Nick answered, stabbing at John with the cigarette in his fingers. " _I_ most definitely do."

"The Nick who..." John's expression of concern deepened, and he reached out toward Nick's face. Nick brushed his hand away, pulling his head to one side.

"You heard me. This is not my world, John. In my world, you and I haven't spoken much in about four years. You're married to Gela, not Amanda. Madeleine and I broke up some time ago; I briefly dated Tara...both of my parents are still alive, and you don't believe a word I'm saying, do you."

John shook his head, bewildered. "We should get you to a doctor."

"I don't need a bloody doctor, John! There's not a thing wrong with me," Nick snapped, exasperated. "I know it sounds completely beyond the pale, but it's a fact. I took off from Osaka, where I'm touring with Simon and Warren while you and Rodge and Andy play with each other in the studio, and I ended up here. Here! Where everyone and  
everything looks the same and everything is just bloody _wrong_."

He paused for breath, only then noticing that John had gone pale.

"What?"

John licked at his lips, hesitating and clearly very shaken by something Nick had just said.

"What, Johnny? What trap did I trip into now?"

"Nick...not a funny joke."

"I'M NOT JOKING! Christ, Johnny. _Look_ at me. Do I look like I'm joking?" Nick said, rolling down the window and tossing out the cigarette he'd unconsciously crushed in his hand as they were speaking, grateful that it was unlit. He rolled the window back up and looked at John. "Well? Do I?"

John looked at him, brown eyes seeming to bore into Nick's face until he could see the back of Nick's skull. Nick glared back at him, reaching up to run his hand through his hair.

"Do I?" he asked, much more softly, and John sighed.

"No. You look damn serious, Nick, but it doesn't make sense. There's only one world. _This_ world," he said, shakily, and Nick shook his head in return.

"That's what I believed, too, John, but..." he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, "here we are. Here I am. This is not my world, John, it's just not."

"I don't think we'd better go to the studio," John said, after a silence, and Nick laughed despite himself.

"Now is hardly the time to be practical, John," he said, unable to keep the bitter edge out of his voice. "Have I convinced you, then?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to drag you off and get your head examined, Nick, but...but the rest of me knows you..." John paused and looked confused. "But I don't, really, do I. You're not _my_ Nick."

"I never was _your_ Nick, John. Not in this world or any other."

"And then you go and say something totally typical like that," John said, reaching over and flipping over the glove box to pull out his own pack of smokes. "Amanda will kill me."

"So, go to the gym and shower before you get home. Won't do anything for your breath, though."

"I'll drink coffee," John responded. "Or eat garlic."

Nick smiled, tiredly, and shook his head again, lighting up his own smoke.

"So which four have been gallivanting around, John? Tell me what I need to know about this world."

John sighed and stared out the front windshield at the building across the way.

"You, me, Roger and Warren," he said, slowly. "Andy's still with us, he just decided he'd rather produce than play."

"What about Simon?"

John took a long drag off his cigarette, then flicked the ashes into the ashtray with a shaking hand.

"Simon never made it back from Fastnet, Nick. He drowned when the keel fell off - trying to rescue Christopher. Nick? Hey - " John reached out and set a hand on Nick's chest, keeping him from bouncing his forehead off the dashboard as the world swam around him.

"Oh God, no..." Nick said, unconsciously reaching out and gripping John's wrist as he closed his eyes, reminding himself forcibly that this was _not_ his world. _His_ Simon was still alive.

"Hey," John said again, reaching over and undoing Nick's seatbelt even as he deftly removed the cigarette from Nick's numb fingers, "come on, Nick...here, get your head down before you pass out."

"I'm sorry," Nick said, thickly, obeying John's instructions, "I'll be fine...just a shock."

"Well, you didn't take it all that well the first time, either."

"That's not very reassuring."

"I'm sorry," John answered sympathetically, rubbing his back. "Breathe, Nick. Deep breaths."

Nick finally sat back up, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I'll live," he said, slumping down in the seat and folding his arms across his chest, "but much as I've missed your company I want to go home."

"It's hard to imagine a world where we're not friends, Nick."

Nick took a deep breath, shakily, grateful to John for the typical -- and necessary -- abrupt change in subject.

"It's not that we're not friends, John, it's just...we started to disagree on too many things. My wife. Your wife. How the band should go. How much say Warren should have. Who's really in charge here. How to handle your addictions. How to handle your getting clean. Whether I'm an addict or not. We just..." Nick hesitated, searching for  
an explanation that made sense in a brain still reeling with loss, "couldn't live with the tension anymore, I guess, so you left."

"I left?" John asked, weakly. "What's wrong with my wife?"

"Nothing, now that you're married to Gela, John," Nick said, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Amanda and I never got on. Ever. I knew she wasn't good for you - Hell, even Andy knew she wasn't good for you - and she knew I felt that way. Imagine my surprise at the warm reception I received here."

"Okay...just...look, how did this happen?" John said, looking at Nick. "I'm still not sure how to believe this, but I know you...at least I think I do, and I know when you're lying. Since you're not, I guess it has to be real," John paused, studying Nick's face, "You've gone all white again."

"Have I?" Nick brought one hand up to his face, where its heat seemed to burn against the chill in his cheek. "I'm sorry, John. I'm just trying to adjust to a reality without Simon, that's all. How is Yasmin?"

John looked startled.

"She's fine, I think. She hasn't wanted much to do with us since he passed on," he said, frowning. "What's this about?"

"Well...it's something else to add to the list of things we had a falling out over, John," Nick said, reluctant suddenly to share with John, remembering the scene that had resulted in his world.

"Nick," John said, and Nick looked up at him, surprised again by the concern he saw in John's face. "I'm not that John, right? Oh, God. He's going to have to - "

"I know. I already wondered how he must have reacted when you weren't there to pick him up. I know I'd be furious," Nick answered. "Maybe we ought to drive on, John. We've probably been sitting here long enough to make the neighbors nervous."

John snorted.

"Not in this car," he said, but took off the parking brake and pulled smoothly from the curbside.

They drove in silence for several minutes, Nick struggling with what he'd learned and unsure how much more to reveal. Finally he started to speak.

"You know -"

"Nick, I -" John said, at precisely the same moment. They glanced at each other and laughed, and Nick said, "You first."

"No, you."

Nick rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I can prove I'm telling the truth, but my proof is back in your house, in the book I was reading on the plane," he said with a sigh.

"And it has something to do with whatever it is you don't want to tell me," John extrapolated, pulling the car into a restaurant parking lot. "We can be private here and not have to have this conversation with me making you sick."

Nick looked doubtfully at the dilapidated exterior of the building, but then shrugged and accepted it. John led him in to a dimly-lit restaurant where the Arabic maitre d' greeted John with apparent delight and familiarity. John spoke with him, briefly and softly as Nick looked around the waiting area without really seeing anything, until the  
maitre d' nodded and led them into a small room filled with cushions and low tables.

"So what's this proof?" John asked, settling down onto a cushion with a sigh. "Relax, Nick, he won't send in the belly dancer or the waiter."

"Right," Nick said, confused, as he lowered himself down. "Okay, I won't ask, then."

John grinned at him, but pointed his finger and said, "Proof."

"I have a picture of my daughter in the book I was reading on the flight."

"Nick, I already told you that Tatjana is living with your ex-laws in Iowa."

Nick shook his head.

"I know that, although my Tatjana lives with _me_ in London while her mother pursues an acting career," he said. "I mean the daughter I had with Simon and Yasmin, John. Saffron."

"Wait. With Yasmin AND Simon?" John said, looking shocked, and Nick sighed, expecting the fireworks to come.

"Yes, John. We've a rather comfortable threesome these days, which is part of the reason I broke up with Maddie, to be perfectly honest with you," he answered a bit tartly, watching John's face. "Simon and I had something of a fling on-and-off starting from the very beginning, John, but it wasn't until Fastnet..." he lost his voice for a moment and swallowed, then pushed onward, "that I realized the relationship was a bit more than just a fling for me."

"What did you do?"

"What _could_ I do? Julie was pregnant, and so was Yasmin, and we were both married. Regardless of how lax he was about his vows, I'd meant mine. We did talk about it, though; I was livid with him for taking the risk."

He was surprised to see an introspectively thoughtful look cross John's face as he spoke, and then John nodded.

"I'd always wondered."

"How's that?"

"Just...like I said, you - he didn't take the news of Simon's death very well. And I'd kind of suspected there was something between them, but they were very discreet."

"Well, I don't know about things here, but we rather had to be."

"So how did Yasmin get involved in this?"

Nick smiled sadly, remembering.

"I was with her when she miscarried - Julie was away, and Yas called me absolutely frantic because something was wrong. I took her to the hospital, and I sat with her...and I got Simon on the Ship-to-Shore to tell him what had happened while she was in recovery. He flew back to be with her, and I went home to Julie, but I guess Yas saw something even as sick and grieving as she was, poor dear. As we all were, really. So she called me up once he'd gotten back on the damn ship and... well, we talked. For hours. Then, at the end of the conversation she said, 'I know you won't do anything while you're still married, Nick. If you change your mind about Julie, just remember that not everyone considers multiple partners infidelity.'"

"That sounds like Yasmin, anyway. Blunt."

"Very," Nick said, with a laugh, "but at the time I was offended - nothing was going to go wrong with _my_ marriage. I was lying to myself at that point, but I did want the child we'd made, Julie and I, and I'd meant my vows to her. Despite loving Simon - and, as I came to realize, loving both he and Yasmin far more than Julie would ever allow me to love her."

John was nodding again, and Nick was bewildered at how easily accepting he was of the concept - no anger, no accusations that Nick was out of his mind or going to cause extra pain to the children.

"You always said you'd meant those vows and would keep them if it killed you," John said, reaching up and tugging on his ear. "So how do we get you back to these people - how'd you come here in the first place?"

"I'm not sure, John," he answered candidly, "all I'm sure of is that I got on the plane in Osaka with things as I've told you, and got back off the plane here. I remember sitting down and thinking I was going to have a bitch of a time getting to sleep - I've been having a problem with insomnia lately - and staring out the window..." something nagged at the back of his mind, and he paused to try and track down the thought. John waited, watching his face. "Something else happened, too, but I just can't quite remember it," he finally conceded with a sigh. "I did fall asleep, though, because the stewardess woke me just before we started to descend."

"It'll come to you," John said, gently, and Nick threw up his hands.

"I hope so," he answered, his heart jumping in his chest as he continued, "but I think I'd better prepare to stay here, in case whatever cosmic force decided I needed shaking up thinks I should stay here. Who knows? Maybe I'm meant to lose Simon this way so _he_ can have him again."

John shook his head.

"God's not that cruel," he said, and Nick rolled his eyes at him.

"Please. Read the Old Testament much lately? Can we get a drink?"

John looked surprised, then laughed.

"Look, Johnny, where I'm from it's Warren that's the health nut, okay? I drink, I smoke, I eat meat...I take terrible care of myself and it really shows after we've been on the road a while."

"Yes, Nick, we can get a drink. What do you want?"

"Wine - something red."

John stepped out the door, and Nick lay back on the cushions with his hands over his face. He didn't know what to do. He'd missed this with John, missed the easy banter, missed the casualness of their relationship, the ease of knowing each other so long that they barely needed to speak. But that'd been lost long ago in his world; they'd both  
changed too much to keep going - or actually, he admitted to himself, they'd gotten tired of working at it. His relationship with Julie combined with John's raging coke addiction had driven the first wedge into the relationship, and they'd never really patched the cracks left behind. He couldn't remember trying. He didn't think John had.

He sat up again and leaned against the wall, his eyes tracing the pattern made by the gold threads in the tapestry across the room from him. He didn't want to stay here, no matter how much he'd missed this friendship. He wanted his home, his bed, his children...his lovers. _His_ John had raged so when he'd found out about their  
arrangement, and yet it worked for them; Nick and Simon took care of each other while they were on the road, though they'd been very careful to be discreet at least until the last tour. They stayed together when they were all in London, all three adults sharing the chores, the struggles, the child-raising. He couldn't imagine never seeing his daughter again. When the three of them had calculated back he'd been the only one at home with Yasmin, so Saffron had to be his; not that it really mattered. All four children belonged with and to all three adults, and were adored - and probably, he thought, very spoiled.

He sighed as John came back into the room carrying two bottles and two glasses, and Nick raised an eyebrow at him.

"A bottle each?" he asked, as John sat back down and set the bottles on one of the low tables, followed by the glasses.

"Not at all," he said, with a grin as he checked the labels and then poured. "I got a cheap bottle to drink while we wait for the good bottle to breathe."

"That's backwards, John," Nick said, taking the glass John offered him. "You're supposed to drink the good bottle first, then put out the cheap stuff afterward, when people won't notice it."

"Oh, is _that_ why everyone's always down on my drink?" John asked, lifting his own glass, as his eyes got very serious. "To new friends, and old, and to getting you home."

"To all of the above," Nick said, leaning forward to tap glasses with John, then sitting back and taking a sip of the wine. It wasn't too cheap, though the tannins were a bit too sharp for his liking, and he took a deeper swallow.

"So. What now?"

Nick sighed, heavily, and took another deep drink from his glass.

"I just don't know, John. But I'd hate to cost you lot money in the studio while we're trying to figure things out."

"We're doing okay," John answered, then scowled in irritation and added, "besides, it wouldn't be a Duran album if there weren't delays."

"You really hate that, don't you."

John nodded, then shrugged.

"What can I do? Especially now, Nick, you've been our primary lyricist since Simon passed away...I mean, I've put a few together. Mostly it's been you - him, I mean - or the two of us working together. I'll just tell the guys you're ill, I guess," he finished lamely.

"They'll want to see me," Nick said, "won't they?"

"If you're sick enough to be out of the studio, yeah. So? What do we tell 'em? They'll never buy the truth, photo of...Saffron?" Nick nodded "or not. Andy'll most likely want you locked right up."

"That's not surprising," Nick groused half under his breath, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I don't know what we tell them. Maybe tell them I needed to stay in Iowa for another week or two."

He leaned back into the pillows, and studied John for a moment.

"As far as what we do now, well, I'm afraid my first instinct is to get very, very drunk. Which, unfortunately, will rule out any thinking about how to get me back in the L.A. I was expecting to arrive in."

"Doesn't sound very productive," John commented, and Nick gave him a half-smile as he refilled John's glass.

"No. And I'm sure I'm being an incredibly bad influence on you, John, aren't I? _You're_ not sober here, are you?" John shook his head, and Nick continued, "but getting completely wasted sounds like a marvelous idea, don't you think?"

"Nick..."

"I don't want to _talk_ about it anymore. I don't want to _think_ about it...about any of it, John," he said, feeling grief for Simon threatening to overwhelm him again, "not for the next while, anyway."

=============================================================

Nick woke abruptly and staggered out of the bed into the bathroom. Several minutes later he made it back across the room, where he collapsed back on the bed and threw his arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight that was streaming around the blind. He sort of remembered the night before; at least, everything up until he and John had decided to go ahead and get drunk was clear. Then, he vaguely recalled returning to John's home and Amanda tearing into John, furious. At least, until Nick had gathered himself enough to tell her - through giggles, no less - that the whole thing had been his idea. He didn't really remember anything else clearly at all, though somehow he'd apparently been poured into the guest bedroom.

He groaned and brought both hands up to cover his face, though it wasn't the hangover that was paining him. How could this have happened? How was he supposed to cope in a world where one of his strongest supports wasn't alive any more? He knew getting drunk hadn't solved anything, and he knew what John - _his_ John - would say about why he'd done it, but he'd just needed not to think for a while. At which he'd certainly succeeded.

He finally rolled over on his side and lay there, his arm dangling limply over the edge of the bed. The house was quiet - kids at school, he supposed, and Amanda off doing whatever she did during the day. Somehow, he didn't think she'd be keeping it down for the sake of John's head or his. Not that Amanda being angry with him was anything new; he just hoped he hadn't gotten John in serious trouble. There was still the nagging feeling that there was something he needed to remember about the flight to explain everything that had happened, and yet...well, he wasn't thinking clearly enough yet this morning to remember anything, he admitted to himself with a sigh. Since he wasn't going to get any hair of the dog he'd better get up and do something - the misery that was settled deep in his chest wasn't going to go away on its own.

The sun that came in around the drapes made him squint as he opened his eyes again and got up, much more steadily this time, and grabbed his bathrobe off the foot of the bed. He went into the bathroom and turned on the tap, scooping the water up and alternating between splashing his face and taking sips of it until he felt more awake. He glanced into the mirror, noting with some amusement that although he didn't look half as bad as he felt he still needed a shave and a shower before he went anywhere. When he came back into the bedroom he pulled his laptop out of its carrying case and began hunting around for a free plug. He finally located one beneath the bed, and connected the computer to the phone line as well before turning it on.

His mind kept coming back to the aching hole left by John's news about Simon as he waited for the iMac to finish booting. He knew this wasn't his world. He also knew he might never get back there, and so he was caught uncomfortably between relief and grief; no matter how hard he tried to push them back into the pit he had built for storing up his emotions they kept struggling back out.

He got up and opened the blinds, blinking a bit as the sunlight took the opportunity to rush into the room, then walked back over to the laptop as the screen came to life. He sat quietly, listening to the silence around him, listening for the sound of a footfall or anyone's voice before he activated his internet connection. Since all he?d heard was silence he expected John was either more hung over than he was or was already at the studio, telling the rest of Duran whatever he'd decided to tell them.

As with Madeleine's phone number, he felt a moment's worry as he waited for the computer on the other end to approve his logon; it took just long enough that he had himself almost convinced it was going to reject him before the connection went through. He opened his browser and began looking around the web, his half-formed desire to locate  
Yasmin driving his choices.

Neither Lizard King nor Duranduran.com appeared to exist in this universe; remembering Madeleine's threat he next checked for There and discovered it was a booming source of rumors, gossip and innuendo. He couldn't decide if that was better or worse than the fanfiction he'd expected to find. He didn't want to tie up John's phone line any longer  
than he had to, and quickly ran through the list of links until he found one that led to a Yasmin Parveneh fan page - he wasn't too surprised to find she'd gone back to her maiden name here.

What did surprise him was the news that she was in L.A., filming a commercial. He'd thought she didn't want to bother much with film, but of course that was his Yaz, not this Yaz. He poked around the site for a little while, looking for which hotel she was staying at - information Duran fans, at least, were notorious for getting - as he fought back another wave of confusion and dismay. He shook it off, then abruptly disconnected from the 'net and shut the computer down, frustrated.

He heard a soft tap - almost a scratching - on the door, and he wrapped his robe more tightly around himself and walked over to open it.

John was standing there, looking much the worse for wear, and Nick took pity on him and let him in the room where John collapsed into the sheets.

"I haven't been this hung over since Brum," he said, and Nick shook his head at him.

"I can't believe any version of Duran would be as clean as you're making you lot out to be," he answered, walking over to pull the shade again. "Did Amanda keep reading you the riot act after I collapsed?"

"Oh, bless you. Nah. She just told me I got to take care of the kids this morning and stormed out. I'm sure she's at Gela's."

"And that doesn't worry you in the slightest?"

"Nope." John said, gingerly working himself back into a sitting position. "She'll get over it, and G's good at male bashing, so Amanda'll feel better when she gets home tonight."

"That's not quite what I meant, John," Nick answered, leaning back against the closet door, across the room from John.

John looked up at him, then waved his hand.

"I trust them, Nick," he said, simply, and Nick raised his hands in surrender.

"Then so shall I," he replied. "What did you end up telling the others?"

"Hm? Oh, I called Andy after I dropped the boys off at school, and told him you'd been stranded in Iowa, and that you'd call me when you were going to make it in."

"How'd he take it?" Nick asked, curiously.

"Better than I would have," John said. "He made a couple of rude comments about your parentage, then said he wouldn't be surprised if you were 'just too beat to 'andle the studio, what wiv the weddin' an' all.'"

Nick laughed.

"A direct quote, I take it."

"Ayup. It's not fair that you're not suffering."

Nick just gave John an icy look.

"Fine, that you're not hung over, then."

"Please, John. I've a lot of practice at not looking hung over, that's all."

"I suppose that's probably true," John admitted, running one hand through his hair. "Any ideas yet?"

"Not yet. There's still that something, but..." Nick shrugged. "until I can grab it I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

"And you with us."

"You're not so terrible," Nick answered, honestly. "I've missed the chance to talk to you - him - whatever!"

John barely covered a smile at his frustration, dark eyes twinkling at Nick, who shook a finger at him.

"Don't mock me - if I can't remember you're going to have to deal with me, you know. And find some way to explain to our bandmates why I've suddenly forgotten all the music we've written together."

John looked at him, shocked.

"Don't tell me that hadn't crossed your mind, too, John. I doubt the music's the same," Nick said, coming over to sit down on the bed, leaning back against the footboard, "After all, I've been in a band with Simon lo these past sixteen years. Yes, I've done some lyrics, but not all by a long shot. Things may be the same before Fastnet," he said, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them to regard John steadily as he enumerated the albums he'd done, "Duran Duran, Rio, Seven...then Power Station and Arcadia."

John nodded.

"That matches, so far," he said, "Vertigo's next for us; we still had some of Simon's stuff we could work from and he'd been on a Hitchcock kick."

Nick gave a small smile despite the pang that went through him.

"We did Notorious. That's when Warren joined us...Oh, and you'd done some solo work before that," he said, remembering, "something for 9 1/2 Weeks. I Do What I Do," but John was looking at him blankly and he sighed. "Look, it's fun to reminisce, but it's not getting us anywhere."

"Where are we trying to get?" John reasonably wanted to know, and Nick found his grip on the frayed end of his temper slipping.

I wish I knew!" he exploded, then closed his eyes and counted to ten. At six he felt John's hand on his calf.

"Hey," John said, and Nick opened his eyes again to look at John. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Nick bit his lip, then said, "So am I."

"Other than getting home, what do you want to do? I think I'd be getting more than a little nuts sitting around here," John said. "I have to pick the boys up from school at 2:30, then Atlanta from soccer at 5."

Actually," Nick started, then hesitated, turning his head to stare across the room at the closet door.

"What?"

"I'd like to see Yasmin," he said, reluctantly. John patted his calf and stood up, grabbing the headboard as he wobbled dizzily.

"I might be able to find out where she is. But Nick, Madeleine..."

"Relax, John. You trust Amanda and Gela. You can certainly trust me with Yasmin," Nick said. "Besides, the way my luck's been running if we do find out where she is she'll take my head off when I show up."

=============================================================

Nick stood outside the hotel room door he'd just knocked on, his fingers twitching with nervous energy. He wasn't sure Yasmin would be in; John hadn't managed to find her shooting schedule. John had been remarkably docile about it all, once Nick had reassured him he could trust Nick. He'd made a few calls while Nick took a shower. It amused Nick that it had been Allison he'd turned to - he wasn't sure why he'd expected that relationship to be any different, except that everything else seemed to be.

He raised his hand to knock again, softly, when he heard the latch rasp from the inside and Yasmin opened the door, wrapped in a bathrobe with a towel in her hair, saying, "It's about time, Nick. I didn't think you were going to come and see me," as she caught his upraised hand and drew him into the hotel room and a deep kiss, closing the door behind them.

For just a moment he allowed himself to surrender to the kiss, bringing his free hand up to cup her cheek, relishing the familiar velvet softness of her skin beneath his fingers. He longed to just bury his face in the hollow of her shoulder and let her hold him, trust her not to let the world know he'd fallen apart if just for that small moment. The moment passed, though, and he gently freed himself from her embrace.

"Yasmin," he started, looking up to meet her gaze, then stopped in shock as a thin film of glistening rainbow seemed to cross her eyes. She also went white, and he caught her as her knees gave beneath her.

"Yaz, I-"

"Nick, you -"

Nick sighed, getting the two of them down on the couch, where he buried his face in his hands.

"This is too weird," he whimpered, shaking his head. "Let me out of this dream."

"It's okay, Nick," she answered, gently drawing him into her arms so he was resting with his back against her chest, "I don't belong here, either. But I couldn't remember how it happened until..."

"Until just now," he finished for her, taking his hands away from his face and lacing fingers with her as they both sighed. "I take it, then, that you saw something...strange in my eyes as well."

He felt her nod, letting himself relax into their embrace.

"I'm trying very hard not to panic," he added, conversationally, and she laughed.

"Oh, I didn't bother," she said, "I threw a tantrum and told everyone they were lying and just generally made a diva of myself, until I figured out that it was much more likely that I was wrong than that the rest of the world was. My children don't exist here, my husband's dead, my agent wasn't even the person I was used to...I spent a  
bit, shall we say, 'resting in the countryside.'"

"Wait?how long have you been here? More than a couple of days?"

She rested her free hand on top of his head. "No, darling, I've been here for almost six months. Including my time 'away.'"

Nick shook his head, confused. "I was afraid I'd end up in bedlam myself, once I figured out something was wrong," he said, smoothing his thumb reassuringly over the back of her hand. "So I tried to cover. Unfortunately, I was dealing with John, and he's always been very good at seeing through me. Fortunately, he believed me when I  
finally explained."

She sighed, and they rested there for a moment in silence before she spoke again.

"What are you thinking?"

He shook his head slightly.

"It's stupid, really, since what I should be thinking about is how to get us to our respective homes."

"So?"

"I was wondering how things were different in your world. You said your husband was dead, here, so I presume Simon's still alive...?"

"Yes. But you're not."

Nick felt a cold chill start at the top of his head and work its way down his spine and he shivered.

"We're all three alive in my world," he said. "But Michael isn't."

"Simon won't have taken that well," she said, softly, and Nick shook his head.

"He didn't. He's still recovering, I think."

They fell into another silence, Nick still absently smoothing his thumb over the back of Yasmin's hand.

"Why is he marrying Madeleine if he has you?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," she answered with a sigh. "I presume they've talked about it and I didn't quite dare bring it up. The only thing I've figured out for sure is that they started seeing each other some time after Simon's death. Before  
Nick's divorce, actually."

"John knows," Nick said, shaking his head, "he didn't want me to come and see you, at first, but he caved awfully easily."

"It wouldn't surprise me. You and he are very close, here," she said, and it was Nick's turn to sigh.

"We used to be in my home as well," he said, "but things changed. Frankly, I got tired of having to pussyfoot around his moods all the time - and that didn't improve even when he got sober."

Yasmin gave him a gentle shove, and he sat up away from her and leaned back against the couch so they could look at each other.

"What?"

"Did you ever tell him that?"

Nick shook his head with a wry smile.

"Absolutely not, darling, that would have caused a real battle. Suggest that he was behaving like a spoilt child - particularly when the final straw for me was him taking the door off his hotel room in a fit of temper? Absolutely not. I was tired of cleaning up his messes," he said, and Yasmin's eyes narrowed at him.

"I don't really know you, Nick, despite carrying on with you here for the last few months. You weren't even a blip on my radar when you died, so I don't know a damned thing about you other than what Simon's told me, but are you trying to tell me you were a saint?"

Nick pursed his lips and looked back at her, carefully weighing his response against the dangerous note he'd caught in her voice.

"Of course not, Yasmin. But I certainly never had a violent temper - Hell," he said, bringing his hand up and running it through his hair. "No. Neither of us were saints, and I think we just got to the point where we couldn't deal with each other's flaws any more, Yaz. We got tired of fighting each other, and it was all I could do to  
take care of me, anyway."

"All you were seeing was the bad stuff."

"That's about it, I guess," he confessed, "I don't know what the final straw was for Johnny. I know for me it was that last temper tantrum. We'd had sharp words that morning, and I just decided it wasn't worth it to me anymore to try and salvage the relationship. Besides...I'd only just gotten up the courage to really accept what you and Simon were offering me, then, rather than just wetting my toes," he added slowly, "and I was more wrapped up in finding our balance."

"So?" she asked again, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"None of us are that different, are we?" he sighed. "Look, I was on my way to talk to him when I ended up here, darling. I didn't know what about, but I knew we needed to talk. The original five are getting back together, and we're going to have to work together again, and...and. I was flying here unannounced in order to talk to him. Which probably would have meant, after a great deal of argument about who was wrong and who was right, each of us admitting that we owed the other an apology."

"Maybe that's why you ended up here," she said, mildly, and Nick barely restrained himself from glaring at her.

"And you?" he asked. "Why did you end up here?"

"Dunno," she answered with a casual shrug. "Maybe to give this Yasmin a chance to know what life with my ball of hormones is like. Maybe you're here because the Nick that's here isn't cherishing his relationships enough. Maybe it's got nothing to do with anything other than fluke."

"And maybe it doesn't matter," Nick finished for her. "Tell me about your flight here."

"I'd just left Simon in Japan and was flying back to London, actually," she said. "You?"

"Flying from Osaka to Los Angeles," he answered, frowning. "I doubt they take the same routes, though."

"Well, that's easily enough checked," Yasmin pointed out. "I take it, then, that you saw some sort of oil-slick in the air effect before you arrived here?"

When he nodded, she said, "so did I. So how do we find it again?"

"I don't know," he answered, "particularly if the flight paths are very different. I also don't know that passing through it again will get us home."

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, confused

"Shoot down ideas before you even try them?"

Nick stared at her for a moment, startled, and she laughed at him.

"Didn't even notice you were doing it, did you."

"No, I hadn't, and no, I don't. Honestly, Yaz, I've survived two band breakups, ten studio albums and working with Warren - not to mention all the changes in my private life that would never have taken off if I were consistent about that." He sighed, and pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Balcony," she ordered, and he got up and walked out on the hotel balcony, feeling the heat of Los Angeles slap him in the face as he leaned back against the rail and lit up. Yasmin had moved across the room after him, and sat down on the table near the glass door.

"I suppose I'm just feeling negative," he said after the first burning inhalation of smoke, "pessimistic about this whole situation. Which isn't going to solve anything."

"No."

"So what are we going to do, Yasmin?"

She smiled, faintly, at the desperation in his voice.

"I don't know, either. Find out where our flights intersected, if at all, and then go from there," she said, resting her cheek on her hand as she watched him. "If nothing else we could always fly from here to Japan, then from there to London. That should take care of it, right?"

"I thought men were more logical than women," he answered, chagrined that idea hadn't occurred to him.

She laughed and got up as he stubbed out his cigarette, drawing him back into the room and into her arms.

"Many men," she answered, "and many women. But clearly not you and I."

==================================================

"Are you sure about this?"

Nick looked up at John, who was leaning in the doorway frowning at him as he packed his things back in his garment bag.

"Yes," he answered, mildly irritated, "I'm quite sure. If it doesn't work, then I'll have had a nice long flight to figure out what I'm going to do."

"You hate being cooped up in a plane."

Nick laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"The way some things change between worlds, and other things don't, John. No, I'm not very fond of flying for just that reason, but I've gotten quite used to it over the years. What are you so concerned about? You do believe me, don't you?"

"I don't have a lot of choice at this point," John answered, sourly, looking again at the picture of Saffron with a deepening frown, "but what if something happens and neither of you comes back here? What happens to my band?"

"You go on," Nick answered calmly, "and eventually things will balance out again. But I don't think it can work that way, John. I presume that your Nick is in my world, and he can't get home unless I do.

"Just take things as they are, John. What's the Serenity Prayer?" Nick smiled again as John looked at him blankly. "AA, John. You became quite the twelve-stepper in my world. This is something I can change - and I know it. Something happened to me that shouldn't have - maybe wouldn't have, if I hadn't had insomnia and hadn't been looking out the window of the plane and hadn't seen what I saw."

He zipped up the garment bag as he finished speaking, and walked over to grip John's upper arm.

"He'll be fine, and he'll be home soon," Nick said. John startled him by catching him up in a bear hug.

"Just you see that you're home safe, too," he barely murmured, and Nick stepped away when he was released, surprised.

"You're sweet, John," Nick said, not quite able to prevent the sarcastic remark from slipping out.

John shrugged.

"I'm just thinking of your John," he answered. "He'd probably hate for anything to happen to you, either."

"We'll see," Nick answered, "although this possessiveness thing has to stop. I'm my own Nick, and he's his own John, and..." he trailed off, uncomfortable and unsure how he could finish that thought.

"Okay, fine, but I don't know how else I'm supposed to refer to him," John answered, coming over and picking up the garment bag for Nick, "I mean, I say 'him' it could mean m-the you that belongs here, or that other John, or...or anybody!"

"I'm sorry. You win," Nick said, laughing, picking up his laptop and carryon. "Let's just don't fight about it, okay?"

John snorted, and they headed out to the car.

"What did you tell Amanda? Is she over her mad?"

"She's fine, Nick," John answered, slinging the bag into the Land Rover. Noting the dubious look on Nick's face he said, "Should I have called a cab?"

"I'm beginning to think," Nick answered. "What did you tell her?"

"Just that you needed to take care of some business with your solicitor in London, something having to do with Julie and Taji. She thinks you're really going to surprise Madeleine."

Nick shrugged as he got in the car.

"Maybe I am," he commented. "Try not to drive too much like a madman, John."

"I'll drive however I please," John responded, swinging into the driver's seat and giving Nick a mad grin. Nick sighed and reached up to grab the handle above the door again, bracing himself for the ride to LAX.

=========================================

Nick settled into the window seat with a sigh, carefully tucking away his carryon and his laptop and opening the window to let the sun shine in.

"Hey, Luv," Yasmin said, settling in to the seat next to him with a smile and a sigh of her own.

"Hello," he said, turning to kiss her cheek. "Did he see you?"

"I don't think so," she answered with a small laugh. "He was busy scowling out the window at the plane, which reassured me that you were probably onboard all ready."

"Scared?"

"Who? Him or me?"

Nick rolled his eyes at her. "You. I know he's scared. And I know I'm scared," he said, drawing in and releasing a deep breath. "So that only leaves you."

"Hm," she answered, leaning over him to look out the window herself. "Yes. And no."

"'And though scary is exciting/Nice is different than good.'"

She smiled at him, then closed her eyes.

"Don't go to sleep, now," he scolded gently. "I think we need to see whatever it is, since I've never traveled dimensions before and I've made this flight a few times."

She smiled without opening her eyes.

"I'm trusting you to wake me," she said, resting her hand on his knee.

He sighed, and returned to staring out the window, watching as the walkway was retracted and the plane began to taxi away from the airport. He was too wound up to sleep in any event, though it seemed unfair of Yasmin to assume that would be the case.

He reached down and rested his hand on hers, wondering how she could be so calm. He could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders knotting up with tension and anxiety as he wondered just what they were going to do if this didn't work, and how he could possibly explain to Simon and John what had happened if it did. He half wished that he'd just come to in his own world and not remember that any of this had happened except that he'd feel cheated if he were reading his life's story and that were how this ended.

"And then he woke up," he murmured, surprised that they'd not had to wait on the runway for very long before takeoff as he watched the ground shrink away beneath him.

"'There's no place like home,'" Yasmin said, just as softly, and he turned his head to meet her eyes as she smiled at him.

"What are you going to do when you get there?" he asked, and her smile spread across her face.

"I'm going to cuddle all three of my girls, even though Amber will hate it, and then, once they're in bed, I?m going to give Simon the fuck of a lifetime," she answered. "What are you going to do?"

He sighed. "You mean, other than making sure my spousi and children know how much I love them? I'm not sure."

"Of course you are, Nick. You know what needs to be done," she said, patting his knee gently, and he reached down and covered her hand with his.

"I suppose. I just don?t know if there?s anything left there to save," he answered, softly, "we've become very different from who we once were."

"What's the cliche? 'People change?' You can do better than that."

He turned his head to look out the window, then looked back at her.

"I'll try. But all the trying in the world won?t help if I'm the only one doing it."

She chuckled at him, softly.

He worried for a while, watching the clouds and the ocean go by beneath the plane, his heart jumping at every strange thing on the horizon until he finally closed his eyes, just for a moment.

==============================================================

He jerked awake, sure that he'd missed something, and turned his head to wake Yasmin. Instead, he saw a rather large man sitting next to him - the snorer from his first trip, perhaps. Disoriented, he stared around the plane in bewilderment, trying to shake off sleep as the stewardess gently leaned over the sleeping man next to him.

"Would you care for something to drink, sir?"

Nick shook his head, automatically reaching for the phone in the seat in front of him. He dialed Simon's cell phone from memory after sliding his card, not caring about how much this was likely to cost.

"'Aloo?"

"Simon," Nick said, warm relief spreading through his body, "you're well. Yasmin and the girls? They're all right?"

"Of course I'm well, and the girls are all fine," Simon answered, his confusion apparent even through the staticky connection. "Nick, what's the matter with you? I've just got off the phone with Johnny, who swore up and down  
you'd lost it completely."

Nick laughed, softly. "I can't explain right now, Charlie, but I'm better. Honestly."

"Good," Simon groused, "I was beginning to think I was going to have to come to Los Angeles myself and drag you home, and we can't all go tearing all over the world right now."

"Well, if I'd lost it that completely, I'd hardly be able to do the shows anyway, dear," Nick said, reasonably. "I'll be back in time."

"Where are you now? Johnny said something about getting you on a plane -- to Iowa?"

"Julie's folks are in Iowa, Simon."

"Why the bloody hell would he send you to them? No, nevermind. You're daft, Nick."

"You love me for it," Nick said, warmly, and heard Simon chuckle on the other end.

"Yeah, so I do. Why're you wasting my time with this call?"

"Call John for me and tell him I'm coming in to L.A., will you?" Nick said, unprepared to explain the truth, even to Simon, over the phone.

"Sure. Take it easy."

Nick hung up the phone with a sigh, relieved that he seemed to be in the right place. Simon and John were alive, Yasmin and the girls...he relaxed back into his seat, staring out across the ocean and looking forward to the chance to finally set things right with John. However much of a cliché it might be, he thought, there really is no place like home.


End file.
